Nation
by Sleepandsheeps
Summary: History books always said that a beauty can bring a nation to ruins. But in reality, a nation can also ruin the natural beauty of a woman. Draco Malfoy was her nation and that nation ruined her. Post Hogwarts, EWE, one shot.


She never thought she would hate this house.

At least not when she first came to visit it a little more than five years ago. She remembered how delighted she had been; waking up to the scent of wooden musk colognes, chasing and being chased around the veranda of the house, eating the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, and strolling the surrounding streets arm in arm with that person. At that time, they were still together. Still happy.

Whatever had gone wrong?

It was because of her. It was her fault things had gone wrong. It was because she-Hermione Granger-was not good enough for Draco Malfoy. That's why she suffered so. The suffering she had gone through living under the same roof with that person was all because she was not good enough. No, no one was ever good enough for Draco Malfoy.

She should have realized it sooner.

A year into their marriage, he became so obsessed with the success of his career that coming back home to her was a luxury he could not-did not-want to afford. The bed stopped no longer carried his scent. There was no longer a need to be chased around the porch barefoot as he was never there to be chased or be the chaser. The veranda stopped echoing the laughter of a happily married couple. Gradually, he no longer baked the cookies he knew she loved so much. The kitchen stopped hosting its usual weekend flour party of two.

She should have realized that the love he held for her was beginning to wane. But she didn't, hoping that it wasn't so, and continued supporting him in all of his endeavors. That was her first mistake. Her second mistake was expecting nothing would change between them as his career heightened. Bit by bit, the image of Draco Malfoy began to regrow and the power and prestige of his mere name after the war began to have more influence in wizarding society. With this honorable image came a pressure to be.

To be more than she could be was her ultimate mistake.

The first time she noticed his dissatisfaction with her was at a Christmas party, two and a half years into their marriage. It was a party hosted by Draco's rival in the Ministry, and he wanted to do everything in his power to acquire some sort of upper hand over the enemy. Revenge was planned in the form of Hermione Granger herself but she didn't know about it until much later when everything was over and done. She remembered she was so much sadder about making her husband angry than she was about embarrassing herself in front of a hundred guests for a dress malfunction and a slip of the tongue about Draco's plans to run in the upcoming election for Minister of Magic.

To recapture her honor, she tried her hardest at everything Draco wanted her to do. He wanted her to learn to play the piano and violin. She did. He wanted her to know ballroom dancing etiquette. She learned. He wanted her to look impeccable everywhere she went, even if it was at home. She was. Wanting to keep his love, she had overextended herself to become a woman Draco wished for her to be. Perfect. Yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't live up to his expectations. Gradually as the months passed, his hysterics got worse and worse and no one was there to calm him. She should have left him then.

Again, she didn't.

Why?

She loved him. He was her only cure for loneliness and that aching pain in her heart. The power of a gun can kill. The power of fire can burn. The power of the mind can learn. The power of anger can rage inside until it tears her apart. But the power of a smile-his smile-can heal her heart of any wound he himself inflicted. That's why she stayed. She loved him.

Yet... He didn't love her.

By staying by his side and being the trophy wife he expected her to be, she learned how little Draco Malfoy loved her the hard way. She learned that even if you live in the same house with a person, share the same bed with a person, and look a person in the eyes, you could never understand the mystery of that person. You could not, after all, classify a human being.

History books always said that a beauty can bring a nation to ruins. But in reality, a nation can also ruin the natural beauty of a woman. As for Hermione Granger, the man's desire for prestige and success, lack of love, and savage hidden disposition was her downfall. Draco Malfoy was her nation and that nation ruined her.

Driven by its fantasy of truth, power, and love, the nation had slashed away skin after skin seeking perfection from the beauty that was Hermione Granger. When all was said and done and no perfection was found, the nation had instead created another beauty in place of the last one through the use of make up and sinful lies. After the gruesome task, all the debris of pursuit were painted over, layer by layer, by that impeccable image of the perfect woman the nation needed her to be.

That was how Draco Malfoy ruined her.

He made her bleed.

In this house that was supposed to be their safe haven, he made her bleed. Hermione Granger never thought she would hate this house. But after all that had happened, she hated it. Brushing the tears from her cheeks, her dark hazel brown eyes glanced over the things in the bedroom. Their bedroom.

Cool damask wallpaper covered the walls with hues of white and soft pastel light green and black beads hung at the entrance to the closet on the right. Apart from a couple of bottles of men's cologne, the dresser near the entrance to the walk-in closet was barren of a woman's touch. There were no lotions that reeked of feminine perfume, no shining jewelry to don, and definitely no make up to plaster upon one's face. Apart from Hermione Granger herself and one photo portrait above their bed, nothing else indicated that she had lived here.

"Hermione, are you ready to go?"

George Weasley stood there at the threshold of the bedroom, silently waiting. His dark brown eyes shown brilliantly in the darkness of the night even as his light, white skin and shoulder-length red hair did its best to shadow his sometimes unreadable facial expressions. With two suitcases in one hand, George made each traveling bag seem impossibly light but she knew it wasn't so. She'd packed those suitcases, after all.

"In a few minutes," said Hermione.

Her eyes slowly traced over the outline of the photo portrait hanging above the bed, the golden lacquer now dull from age. Encased within the 18 x 24" portrait frame was a wedding photo of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. He was wearing classic wizard robes with a stylish brooch the color of his sharp grey eyes. She was a vision in a white wedding gown of Alencon lace and silk organza floral detailing that emphasized her womanly shape and sun-tanned skin.

They had been happy then.

He was standing behind her, his arms warmly wrapped around her in a protective manner as he looked at the camera with a smile that made her breathless every time. She was leaning into his shielding arms, her face content as she felt one of his hands reaching for hers during the photo session. At that moment, she was happy being with him.

Taking off her sandals, Hermione slowly approached the king size bed of white and blue comforters and climbed on it. Upon gaining her balance, she stood up so that she was hovering over the wedding portrait. The Hermione and Draco within the portrait stared at her inquisitively, apprehensive but intrigued. She wasn't happy anymore. Having that portrait up was a contradiction to everything she ever knew. She did not want it. With quivering fingers, Hermione took down the heavy portrait frame as the couple protested silently.

Hermione turned to look at George from the door, her eyes clouding over with tears as she slowly recognized the meaning of her actions. He gave her a small smile and nodded his head towards the wedding portrait in her hands. Hermione slipped down from the bed to put on her sandals. As her eyes settled back on the portrait, she took a deep breath and quickly set her wand to it.

_Confringo!_

Piece by piece, all the memories of their love slowly fell onto their bed. The happiness in those smiling faces, the romance enchanted to last forever in it, and all the horrible things the portrait had witnessed burst forth in flames from the force of the heart wrenching hate of a woman scorned. Cut flesh, clouding tears, and a wounded heart broke piece by piece. Broke free.

Somewhere near, a distinct cracking sound echoed down the hall.

"Hermione, I'm home!"

At the sound of that oh so familiar voice, Hermione glanced at the spot outside the bedroom. She could just see him stalking in wearing well-kempt robes, his intentions clear in his long, quick strides. Dread seeped into every part of her body at the sound of his dark voice. He's mad. He's mad at her. It's going to happen again.

Hermione Granger fell to the wooden floor in fear. Her arms automatically wrapped themselves protectively around her body, ready for the onslaught of agony. The gut wrenching pain inflicted by those hands, the fearful brush of golden locks against her body, the mind numbing feel of that betrayal, the taste of iron red blood-she was ready for them all. Because she was not good enough.

Before her hands could touch her shoulders, someone grabbed her wrists and gently pulled them away from her body. She flinched from the phantom slap to her face.

"Hermione," George's voice called. Her eyes flickered open and she slowly looked up at the man towering over her. "Come on, love. Come with me."

"I loved him." Her voice cracked with the tension. "I loved him."

His dark brown eyes crinkled with a smile. Like gazing into the beauty of something that could one day die terribly, he smiled the best he could and acknowledged her past love for Draco Malfoy with a curt nod of his head. With one great heave, he pulled the ever fragile Hermione Granger from the floor and up on her feet. As footsteps began echoing down the hallway coming ever closer to the bedroom, the bedroom windows swung open to let in the dark chilly air of a summer night.

A man and a woman were seen jumping out, hand in hand.

They ran away from that house. And they did not run alone.

Because that was the impossible escape plan of a trophy wife who'd had enough of her abusive husband and of the friend who helped her escape.

_Pop! Pop!_


End file.
